
Illllllllli 



LIFORNIA 

AND 

OTHER VERSE 



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HOWARD L. TERRY 



Illllllllli 



Illllllllli 

^illilfillillllllllllliyiJlllillllllilllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllllltillllillllllllllllllH 




Class _J_ 
Book 



Copyiiglitll^. 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Corrections and Revisions, 

Page 2, lines 5 and 6 : 

And far and wide this land is free 
With beauty, wealth and brilliancy ! 
Page 6 : 

"Sees God in clouds, or hears his voice in wind.' 
Page 7, Line 9 of verse : symbol — symbolic. 
Page 13, last line of Lake Tahoe : 

These depths be my grave on my spirit's release. 
Page 17, second line from bottom of page : 

worketh— workest. 
Page 19, last stanza, last line ; water— waters 
Pags 22, first line, third stanza : are — art. 
Page 43, second line : Oh ! — oh ! 
Page 46, second line : 

When my dad was a boy like me. 
Page 47, last line of fifth stanza ; maiden— maid. 
Page 47, first line of sixth stanza : buy — get, 
Page 48, first line, second stanza: So-and-So— So-and-so. 
Page 49, second line, sixth couplet : 

Bright fires of brushwood burning in the gray. 



II! Ill Ill Illlllllllilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!; 



Illllllll 



CALIFORNIA 

AND OTHER VERSE 



BY 

HOWARD L. TERRY 

AUTHOR OF 
A VOICE FROM THE SILENCE' 
"THE DREAM : A DRAMA" 



THE PALISADES PRESS 

SANTA MONICA CALIFORNIA 

1917 



6^"^ 



^'^up 



^ 



Copyright 1917 hy Howard L. Terr^ 



SEP 19 1917 

©CU473877 
nt^ ( 



Eo i\)t Blemor^ of 

Blotter anb Falljer 



CONTENTS 

Page 

California 1 

Ye Sons of the East S 

A Night on Mt. Lowe -4 

The Volcano 5 

The Cyclone 6 

Joaquin Miller 7 

Joaquin Miller as I Saw Him 7 

The Discovery of Gold .12 

Lake Tahoe , 13 

The Spirit of the Place i-4 

As I See It 15 

The World's Ingredients 15 

The Titanic 16 

The Deserted Ships 18 

The Poet's Dream 30 

A Poet 31 

The Death of Chatterton 32 

The Last Oak 33 

"Sunset" 35 

My Breakfast 37 

Elm Spring 38 

The Marsh Mill Waterfall 39 



Page 

"Paradise Regained" U2 

A Song of Twenty-one 4^ 

Madrigal H 

Constancy ; ji.5 

The Ballad of Jennie Brown j^6 

Fires of Brushwood 49 

Lincoln 50 

Enlist 51 

Peace 52 



CALIFORNIA 

THE sensuous clime in glory glows, 

Like magic swells the harvest here, 
O'er lands once dead where Genius sows 

The seeds of progress and of cheer ; 
And midst the palm, and midst the pine, 
From mountain peak to laving brine. 
The sun that never fails to shine 
Has made a living spot divine. 
Or be it day, or be it night. 
By dashing wave, on rocky height. 
Midst poppy fields, on desert sand, 
My heart is thine, lovely land! 

Chorus 
Dream of the hardy pioneer. 
Land of the famed Yosemite, 
Clime to a thankful people dear, 
California! 'tis of thee. 



2 

The mist that lowers with dawn and dark 

Is but the veil of beauty's form : 
The mountains rising bold and stark. 

The commerce-laden ocean's charm; 
And far and wide a world there be 
Of beauty, wealth and brilliancy! 
And still, to crown this paradise. 
How proud, how fair her cities rise! 
And copious streams about them flow 
Through fertile lands that wait the plow, 
Where bountiful nature yields her best, 
Where man, if e'er he was, is blessed, 
Oh, El Dorado of the West! 




YE SONS OF THE EAST 

YE sons of the East ! oh, arise from your dreams, 
A sign in the heavens disturbeth your rest. 

Steadfast and alone in its beauty it beams, 
In silence it calls you — the star of the West ! 

Ye sons of the East! do you harken that tone? 

The Wasatch, the Cascades, the Sierras call; 
Through far, mystic wastes of the desert lands, lone, 

The echo replies, to the glory of all. 

The surf, as it breaks on the rock or the sand. 

It voices you welcome, sons of the East; 
But gladder and truer than all is the hand 

That's waiting to welcome, to serve you the feast! 



THE SEA'S REPLY 

I said to the restless Sea, 

"0 Sea, do you never tire?" 

A great wave rose near me, 

And then, unconsciously, 

My face turned high, and higher. 



A NIGHT ON MT. LOWE 

THE moon hangs overhead, 

The City lies below, 

The mountain side is red 

With sunset's golden glow; 

The winding trail I tread, 

The night winds come and go. 

The roseate heavens spread 

O'er yon far ocean's flow; 

The breaths of the faint and first 

Sweet scent of the darkling hurst. 

Of the pine and the cedar blow. 

The day is done, and night 
Is gathering with its chill, 
A ghostly stillness quite 
Enthralls the mortal will. 
For the soul has taken flight. 
Though the heart is beating still ! 

The depths about me gather 

The shadows of the night. 

The peaks the cold mists lather 

With chaos, silver bright. 

As the moon's beams, or, rather 

A flood of heaven's light, 



Bathes the far heig^hts and near 
In her ethereal flight. 

I retire to sleep and dream, 
I retire to dream and sleep, 
Near to God, as it would seem, 
Near to God, as I would keep, 
With the clear stars overhead, 
And the virgin v/orld around, 
Where but sweet thoughts are bred, 
And to all good respond! 



THE VOLCANO 

I heard a mighty mountain clear its throat, 
I saw it burst with lava and fierce flame, 
I felt a trembling, and the crackling note, 
And roar of streaming lava to me came; 

I sav/ the heavens darken, and the glare 

Of wild flame come bursting through the gloom; 

I turned, and saw a city rising fair — 

A moment more — I saw the city's doom! 



THE CYCLONE 

"Lol the poor Indian, whose untutored mind 
Sees Gk)d in sunrise, hears His voice in wind.' 

I am the Cyclone, 
Fearful and dreaded ! 
Fly I immeasurably 
Swift o'er the country! 
I am God's warning: 
When He is an^ry! 
O'er village and city 
I'm sent on His errand, 
Dealing destruction. 
Death and wild carnage 
Midst a weak people 
O'er whom I am master! 
Oaks on the mountain. 
Lords of their kingdom. 
Sway and snap sharply, 
And crash to the valley! 
Ships are as feathers 
And founder before me! 
Lake, stream and ocean 
Are tossed into fury. 
Scattering broadcast 
Spray to the heavens! 
Temples of granite, 
Massive and lofty, 
Tumble and crumble 
As madly I pass them! 
I am the cyclone 
I am God's warning, 
He spoke, and I am! 



JOAQUIN MILLER. 

GRIZZLED old poet, what a fate was yours ! 
You who had proudly sung these western shores, 
You who had dreamed and penned your way to fame, 
And had not for your title page a name! 
Cincinnatus was too long for you. 
And Heine— well, that name would never do ; 
And London waiting for her Western bard- 
Then Ina Coolbrith played the saving card, 
And called you "Joaquin" — symbol of the West : 
To cap the climax, "Columbus" did the rest. 



JOAQUIN MILLER AS I SAW HIM. 

MILLER IS DEAD. In a quaint little cottage 
high up on the hills overlooking the Golden Gate, 
there has passed to eternity the spirit of a very great 
man — a man who could interpret Nature, who loved 
God, and his fellowmen, the man whom Tennyson 
called the greatest poet America has produced. 

In that little cottage, bending over the massive, 
silvered brow, are the sorrowing widow, and the 
heart-broken daughter, Juanita. 

Miller is dead. The world bewails his loss, but his 
poems will live forever. 

Just one year ago I was privileged to meet Mr. 



8 



Miller, to grasp his hand and to talk with him. 

Getting off the car in Fruitvale, I started up the 
long ascent that leads to "The Hights." In half an 
hour I came to the gate of the poet's home. I was 
weak and dizzy, having been suffering with grip, 
and paused a moment to recover before knocking at 
the door. My approach had been heard by the daugh- 
ter, who met me at the front door, and motioned me 
to the side door, which opened to the poet's bed room. 
I walked around as directed, and on reaching the open 
door, saw Mr. Miller reclining against a prop of 
pillows in his bed. I shall never forget the picture 
that met my eyes. The rudely furnished room, bare 
floor strewn with trappings of outdoor life, boots, 
saddles, an axe, quaint Indian relics, shells, articles 
of clothing, etc., without meaning or order; the great 
wooden bedstead, a mountain of blankets, and that 
wonderful face and head rising majestically over all. 
Then a gleam from the poet's wonderfully clear and 
brilliant eyes — the eyes of genius — caught mine. I 
took off my glove and, walking up to the bed, grasped 
his welcoming, outstretched hand — and held it. A 
thrill swept my frame, the hand that had been 
grasped by Tennyson, by Browning, by Dickens, by 
Prince Napoleon, the hand that had penned "Colum- 
bus" and "The Passing of Tennyson" was now 
clasped in mine. 



9 

My emotion passed away. I said: 

"I have come to see the man who carried a laurel 
wreath from California to England to lay on the 
grave of Byron." 

His mind reverted to those early days. He gave a 
quick nod, and said: "Byron made Italy; Byron 
said, 'The mountains look on Marathon, and Mara- 
thon looks on the sea.' " 

"Yes," I said, "Nature is always the same; but 
man and nations change. I am sorry that you are 
ill," and turning to Juanita, "Yours is a work of 
love." 

Juanita nodded "Yes." I was told to be seated, 
and a moment later the daughter brought me a glass 
of warm lemonade, and quickly followed it with a 
tray containing coffee and cakes. How thoughtful 
and hospitable. It was still early, and this was really 
a breakfast. The refreshments made me feel better, 
and we talked about many things. Being deaf, I 
could not hear a word, but Mrs. Miller wrote on 
paper all the poet said, and after a few minutes, 
seeing that my presence was undoubtedly tiring him, 
[ rose to go. Mr. Miller said several kind things to 
ne, encouraged me in my literary work, and ex- 
Dressed his appreciation of my call. Again grasp- 
\ ng his hand, I bid him farewell, and Mrs. Miller 
( iDok me to see the grounds and the cottages. 



10 

When Joaquin Miller took possession of the ranch, 
it was bare of trees. Now there is a great forest of 
nearly 80,000 trees, all set out by the poet and his 
visiting friends. 

One of the cottages was the store-house of his 
Alaskan outfit, his tent and other trappings used on 
his trip alone across the silent wastes of the North. 
This cottage was formerly occupied by his mother. 
I plucked some roses that grew at the door, and these 
I still have. We next went to the cottage where the 
poet penned so much of his work. Mrs. Miller said 
that Archbishop Trench, the great authority on 
words, asked Miller where he got his words. She 
felt there was but one answer, viz., "Genius." 

So passed the hour — an hour that I am to carry in 
my mind to the end of my days, an hour that I thank 
God for giving. 

On arriving home in Santa Monica, I wrote to Mr. 
Miller, and this letter was followed up by an inter- 
esting correspondence. These letters, which the poet 
penned, and while suffering with the illness that 
should later cause his death, I now have in my safe 
deposit box. 



11 




12 



THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD. j 

IF thou couldst from a hilltop see 

A bivouac of infantry 

Far spread upon the grassy plain, 

Where calm moonlight and silence reign, 

Recumbent forms in quietude 

Around the piles of burning wood, 

And not a sound of good or fell, 

Except the watchword, "All is well," 

That, like some unexpected sound 

That starts the echoes far around, 

And travels on and on until 

'Tis answered o'er the distant hill ; 

Those forms a- weary, fast in dreams, 

While from each stacked rifle gleams 

The flashing rays that dart around, 

Mocking the fires' dance on the ground, 

Rest safe from danger. Shouldst thou see 

Advancing hosts from o'er the lea. 

And hear the bugle in the camp, 

Behold the waking, hear the tramp— 

The dead spring into life again, 

And din of battle on the plain. 

Then thou wouldst know how sudden, strange, 

Came consternation o'er that range 

Of quiet woodland, mount and glen 



13 



Sublime in primal glory then, 

When yellow gold, washed from the stream. 

First startled man by its fair gleam. 

And sent its message, world around, 

"El Dorado has been found!" 



LAKE TAHOE. 

ON the crest of thy waters, Lake of the north, 
I float with the joy of a spirit set free. 
For the angels in heaven that witnessed thy birth 
Are weaning with song all my spirit from me. 

Oh, the rare light that quivers upon thy clear waves. 
Thy dark depths and caverns unfathomed by man. 
And this frail shallop shell that so lightly behaves. 
Ah, this were my world as my youthful dreams ran : 

By those stern walls around me my safety's secured, 
The pure sky above me gives promise of peace ; 
And my boat is my temporal haven assured— 
These depths be my grave when my dream life would 
cease. 

Be a hoy as long as you can, 
There's ample time to be a man. 



14 



THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE. 

THE spirit of the place is gone, 
The scene a duller aspect wears, 
And I am here, but here alone, 
And God knows what my bosom bears. 

The spirit of the place is gone. 
The fuller sense of life is lost. 
My cup was full with her alone, 
I drank, and misery is the cost. 

No longer mine the day's delights, 
My soul is dead to music's swell, 
The sunset's glow, the starry nights 
Cast not on me their wonted spell. 

I gaze with aching heart afar 
O'er boundless waters, to the sky. 
Perhaps she dwells on yonder star, 
And living still, will never die. 

I turn, the mountain's somber wall 
Is as the barrier I must break, 
If I would be within her call — 
Up, up, my soul! arise, awake! 



15 



AS I SEE IT. 

TRY as I may I cannot see 

Aught else but immortality : 

We were before we touched this earth, 

And will be by another birth ; 

For motion is life and eternity, 

The breath in you and the breath in me. 

The fiat of That which cannot die ; 

Though fail the earth, the stars on high, 

It breathes again in the spirit free, 

lu God, the Birth and Maturity. 



THE WORLD'S INGREDIENTS. 

AND who will say that one is right, 
And from another turn away ? 
He who made the winter night 
Also made the summer day. 



16 



THE TITANIC 

She might have come to port a happy bride^ 
Bearing her freight of beauty, genius, gold. 
From lands afar, and in her queenly pride. 
Unscathed by tempest or the Artie's cold. 
Borne witness to the triumph of the age — 
The height of art and skill, of mighty mold; 
She laughed to scorn the billows in their rage, 
Majestically beautiful, ne'er told 
A dreamer of great dreams a prophecy so bold! 

Two thousand souls, and not a sign of fear; 
Oh, happy, happy hearts that westward sail ! 
Ye dream of loved ones till the happy tear 
Of greeting springs too soon. Along the rail 
Ye promenade in glad expectancy. 
Low sinks the sun, and o'er the sea the veil, 
Star-decked, of night draws on. In mighty glee 
On plows the ship defiant of the gale. 
Through fog and wave and ice she leaves a Titan trail. 

Thou, who madest and rulest the universe. 
It is not fit weak mortal ask Thee why 
Thou worketh blessings or the sapping curse, 
Enough to know that man is born to die. 



17 



Two thousand souls, and not a sign of fear; 
The crash of doom — the wild alarm — the cry 
Of men gone mad; the end of all that's dear, 
Ambition, hope, love, home, as suddenly 
As 'twere the world had met a planet circling nigh. 

The news was flashed, the news that shocked the 

world, 
And peasant, statesman, monarch, men of power, 
With dim eyes stood. The cold ocean curled 
Its waves about the dead .... Slow passed 

the hour. 
And then she sank, midst breaking hearts and 

tears, 
And brave farewells from men of princely dower, 
And agony, and terror, such as wears. 
Deep furrors in the heart; and all was o'er. 
The sun rose on a world appalled as ne'er before. 



18 



THE DESERTED SHIPS: 

A SEA TALE FROM THE WEST 

Note. — Some have said, "This is too much like 
'Ancient Mariner.' " Birds of evil omen are a common 
superstition. The tale is the outcome of a report 
of the work of Government wreckers off the Atlantic 
seaboard. A sailing vessel had been found under full 
sail, in perfect order, yet not a soul aboard; the 
question naturally arose, "How did it happen?" 

H. L. T. 

A man from the Middle West was strolling on the 
beach, when he came upon three men, evidently 
sailors. They were telling tales, and the Western 
man paused to listen. When the story telling was 
over, the newcomer was challenged to tell a sea tale, 
and having noted the superstition of the men, enter- 
tained them thus : 

"And how is this, my fellow men, 
And how, my Sailors three, 
That I possess such yarn as this 
Who never sailed the sea? 

"Oh, ho! you wink your weather eye, 
I know its meaning well; 
So you believe that I deceive, 
No tale of sea can tell? 



19 



"Then sit ye down, my Sailors three, 
And hearken to my tale, 
How night and day for leagues away, 
Unmanned two ships did sail." 

He was a rugged Western man 

Who came to know the sea, 
With eager face he took his place 

Beside his comrades three. 

It was a stretch of ocean beach, 

The waves did roar and roll, 
He fed his eye on breakers nigh, 

That stirred him to the soul. 

"Oh, ho!" he cried, "I like the sea, 
I like the waves and roar, 
Now sit ye 'round, your nerves I'll sound 
With tale ne'er told before." 

And they did sit as he did say 

Upon the sands and shale, 
And there he stood while iced their blood 

That made their cheeks to pale. 

"And how came I by this? you say, 
A man of th' West countree. 
Though rough my looks, I'm schooled in books 
In tales and historie. 

"I got it from my great-grandad — 
He was a fearless soul — 
He dared be free — he sailed the sea 
Where'er its water roll. 



20 



"It was the g'ood ship Flying-Fish, 
With three masts pointing high, 
As spick-and-span as any man 
E'er sailed beneath the sky. 

"And ev'ry man aboard that ship 
Had vowed that he would try 
To find that land upon whose strand 
Man blest might live and die. 

"Ah, simple minds— ah, foolish men. 
That dreamed to happy be, 
All free from care in th' enchanted air 
Of island in the sea; 

"Where suns are warm and moons are mild. 
And gentle breezes blow, 
Where men no more desire their shore — 
Where lotus-flowers grow ; 

"Utopian land — a fabled isle, 
Near famed Aegean Sea, 
Where ills of Eld have been withheld, 
And all earth's misery. 

"Ah, well-a-day, and well-a-day, 
Those foolish, luckless men! 
Bright was the day they sailed away, 
But ne'er to land again ! 

"They saw the golden sun go down ^ 

Where long had dwelt their sires; 
They said farewell — they hailed the swell 
Of sea that never tires; 



21 



"They saw the golden sun come up, 
The white-caps rolling far; 
Theirs was rejoice with ringing voice, 
From deck and mast and spar. 

"Far to the south the vessel sailed, 
And reached the Afric shore, 
It passed the strait — the Mid-Sea gate — 
They hailed the dusky Moor; 

"By east and south — Calypso's isle, 
Beyond the shores of Crete, 
Fair blew the wind — far, far behind, 
The sky and islands meet; 

"But on the twentieth day they spied, 
A speck against the sky, 
It nearer drew, it larger grew — 
They watched with fearful eye. 

"And when that thing had neared the ship, 
Ah, they were filled with fear, 
Right wel! the crew its meaning knew, 
Some dreadful doom was near! 

"It was a noxious cormorant, 
A foetid, carrion thing, 
It sought a mast* — such sign did blast 
Those men's fond reckoning. 

*0h, woe is me!" the captain cried — 

He swore a fearful oath — 
He drew his gun and fired upon 
That bird which he did loathe. 



22 



"No sound it made, nor moved at all-^ 
'Twas silent as a trap! 
To scare the thing each man did fling 
On high his sailor cap. 

'Thou art a solitary bird, 
I know it by thy beak — 
No bird could be thy companie, 
E'en I abhor thy shriek; 

'Thou are a harbinger of woe, 

A sign all sailors dread, > 

I will not rest, thou horrid pest. 

Until I see thee dead! 

The captain's anger scarce had burst. 

When loud the bird did cry; 
The fearful crew together drew — 

'What's that 'neath yonder sky?' 

"Far o'er the sea they saw a sail, 
Full ev'ry canvas drew; 
They raised the glass — alas! alas! 
That ship the black flag flew! 

''Aloft! aloft! — set ev'ry sail!' 
The captain's voice rang loud; 
And louder rang — the sailors sprang. 
And manned each mast and shroud. 

"Tops — top-gallants — main and jib. 
Were spread as ne'er before; 
She swung — she dipped — she leaped — she slipped — 
Like thing possessed she tore! 



23 



"But still was perched above the ship 
Which flew before the wind, 
That wicked bird — it never stirr'd — 
The sailors said it grinned! 

"Ah, day on day and night on night, 
The pirates chased that bark! 
Now near, now far, 'neath sun and star — 
By daylight and by dark. 

"The hopfs of th' ones they were high, 
The others' ire was, too, 
Who cursed and railed as on they sailed. 
But close they never drew. 

"Still perched that evil cormorant. 
The efforts of the crew 
To drive away that bird, or slay, 
Were vain, and foolish, too. 

"They tried by ev'ry means, but failed. 
That evil bird to slay. 
When near the thing it took to wing — 
It knew the game to play. 

"Hard strained the ship as winds increased. 
But high she bore and well. 
Until — a crash! — quick as a flash, 
The straining main-mast fell ! 

"The mast the bird had perched upon — 
That bird demoniac — 
Was snapped, and fell — th' exultant yell 
Of th' pirates wafted back! 



24 



"With fearful shriek that frightened bird, 
Like ghost in shadows dressed, 
Shot through the air toward th' pirate there, 
Who near and nearer pressed. 

"Can aught escape that crippled be 
When pressed full hard and fast? 
The hour was come — the men were dumb — • 
The battle on at last! 

"The pirates overhauled that ship, 
But dearly bought the day — 
The deck ran red from slaughtered dead 
Where man and pirate lay. 

"They spared not one, those pirates grim, 
With thirst for blood and gore. 
They cut and slashed — the blood it splashed, 
They threw the wounded o'er! 

"My men, was there ever a scene 
Like this, unjustified? 
The pirate crew infuriate grew 
As swift the knife was plied; 

"And yell on yell, and oath on oath 
'Mid clash of steel arose; 
And flash of arms of men in swarms, 
And shrieks, and groans, and blows! 

"The deed was done. The night drew on — 
The waves received the slain ; 
It was not good, this deck of blood, 
They sought their ship again." 



25 



The Western man here paused for breath — 
"Go on!" his comrades cried, 
"We sit to hear with eager ear." 
"Then list," the man replied. 

'One crowded hour of glorious life,' 

You've heard the line, my men, 
That murd'rous crew now sought to do 
One meaning of it then! 

"They lashed their prize beside their ship, 
Exultant in their task. 
Then back they sprang and loud they sang. 
Spread round about a cask : 

THE pirates' song 

"Fill high the glass — the fight is won! 
We sing, who never died, 
Their flesh and blood is fishes' food, 
We are the ocean's pride! 

"Let others toil for what they get, 
We win by right of force! 
Our home, our grave, the ocean wave, 
Our path, the trackless course; 

"We came 7iot of our oivn desire. 
Why should we toil to live? 
By others' blood we gain our food, 
What though at times we give! 

"Let others mark by deed or line 
The bound'ry of their home. 
Ours is the free and boundless sea. 
Our roof, the azure dome! 



26 



'F^ill high the glass — the fight is won! 

We sing, who never died: 
Their flesh and blood is fishes' food, 

We are the ocean's pride! 



"They sang — they drank — the orgy grew, 
Till they could stand no more — 
A frightful wreck, each stretched the deck. 
The rum was running o'er! 

"Oh. ghastly scene! ah, horrid scene! 
As, one by one they rose; 
They cursed — they raved — each face was grav'd 
With terror . ' . . What are those? 

"About the deck a host appeared — 
The spirits of the dead! 
With weird shout they rushed about, 
It was an hour of dread. 

"The frenzied men were chased about 
Like fishes scared by shark: 
They raved, they yelled, by ghosts impelled, 
Upon that haunted bark. 

"It was a Babel on the deep. 

Where minds, not tongues, were changed; 
The ocean-swell the waves of Hell 
That all around them ranged ! 

"There were two brothers in that crew. 
Together always found. 
Their minds were one as life went on, 
Held by a common bond. 



27 



"Of these, one fled with awful shriek 
Above, about, below, 
He seemed to see a spirit free 
Close in to deal a blow. 

"In vain he climbed, he dropped, he ran — 
Close on his heels it flew, 
With terror crazed, his cutlass raised 
And stabbed it throug^h and through! 

"Alas! alas! what had he done? 
There at his tremblino- feet, 
With bleeding side his brother died, 
He sank with moaning meet. 

"Relentless spirit! heaven-sent, 
They drove them, one by one, 
To walk the plank — they yelled, they sank 
For sharks to feed upon : 

"Splash — splash — splash ! 
As one by one they fell; 
The hungry shark arose in th' dark. 
And bore them through the swell ; 

"Splash — splash — splash ! 
As o'er the vessel's side 
The yells of th' men were terrible, when 
They plunged below and died; 

"Splash — splash — splash ! 
Was e'er a night so grim? 
'Midst wild alarm the sharks did swarm, 
And crunched them, trunk and limb. 



28 



"Splash — splash — splash ! 
The spirit of Justice bore 
Above that ship with its rise and dip. 
Till ev'ry man was o'er! 

"And then a deathly silence fell, 
Save waters lapping nigh, 
Like that which falls in cavern halls 
When lost men cease to cry. 

"And they, the ghosts of them that died- 
The men the pirates slew — 
The task well done, like setting sun 
To another world withdrew. 

"Then o'er the sea the moon arose, 
And grac'd that place of strife. 
But all were gone — the ships, alone. 
Gave not a sign of life. 

"Oh, was ever a scene so fair. 
So silent, beautiful, 
Where just before was death and gore 
And Justice dutiful? 

"Oh, was ever a scene so fair, 
On lone and silent sea? 
The moon shone red, the vessels sped 
In solemn majesty. 

"And I am told that to this day 
Their hulks are met at sea, 
Lashed side by side they drift and ride- 
Those hulks a moral be: 



29 



THE MORAL 

'Eternal law of righteousness, 
God worketh out His will: 

No land of bliss on earth there is — • 
Death follows those that kill." 

He was a rugged Western man 
Who came to know the sea, 

With solemn face he left his place, 
"Farewell, my comrades three." 



* During the composition of this poem, to verify 
myself, I looked up the habits of the cormorant, and 
by strange coincidence, came to this: "Its voice is 
hoarse and croaking, and all its qualities obscene. 
No wonder, then, Milton should make Satan imper- 
sonate this bird . . . and sit, devising death, on 
the Tree of Life. Aristotle expressly says the cor- 
morant is the only sea-fowl that sits on trees." 



30 



THE POETS DREAM. 

I'LL marry my muse some happy day, 

A muse most beautiful, jubilant, gay. 

We'll live in a castle up so high 

The lowest portals look over the sky ; 

I'll have my paper and pen and ink. 

And sit all day in my chair and think ; 

I'll spatter the ink o'er many a clime. 

And bring it back in the form of rhyme ; 

I'll sing with the muses and dine with the gods, 

And measure my verses in poles and rods! 

I'll company keep with the aerials free. 

And I will love them until they love me! 

I'll kiss their cheeks and smooth their hair 

And dance with them on their plain of air, 

And quaff a cup of nectar cold 

As they did in Olympian days of old ; 

And when with rhyme there is nothing to do 

I'll send a loving epistle to you. 

And cancel its stamp with a kiss or two! 

Oh! a poet ne'er knowing a tear or sigh 

Will I be in my castle, up in the sky. 

The people with glasses on earth below 

Will climb a high mountain to look at me, oh! 

And I'll toss them bunches of roses sweet, 

And sugared cakes the muses eat. 

My food, served up in a crystal dish, 



31 



Choicer by far than a god would wish : 

Ambrosia, nectar and roses' dew, 

And a dash of wine old Bacchus drew 

From an antideluvian keg! 

Safe in my castle, up in the sky, 

Merrily living as time goes by, 

I'll pass my days and pen my dreams 

Where the moon and the stars flirt with their 

beams, 
And there I'll reap, and there I'll sow, 
Nor taste the sorrows of earth below! 



A POET. 

A poet is a thing that starves to death! 
The while he sings immortal songs to cheer 
A dying cause to victory — the wreath, 
Or laurel crown's awarded at the bier; 
The rhymer is the aper of the bard. 
He gets the cash from penny magazines, 
And wears good clothes and dines him like a lord, 
The while the poet counts his navy beans! 
He dies and is forgotten in a year : 
Ah, fame's a tempting thing, but food just now is 
dear! 



32 



THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON. 

AND he is dead, the child whom Genius crowned, 
And left to Poverty's remorseless will. 
Here, in this shabby room, the corpse was found, 
The poison phial did here its mission fill; 
The priceless manuscripts his mind produced 
In shreds about him lay, their worth unknown 
To a cold world, whose apathy induced 
The fatal deed. Too early he had grown 
Above the world's mentality, and chose 
The unknown state, by desperation driven. 
The tragic scene before my vision grows : 
Neglected worth to self-destruction given! 
Peace, peace! another star bejewels the heaven! 



33 



THE LAST OAK 

Strike me not, O sturdy woodsman, while as yet I am 

not dead, 
Centuries have rolled beneath me since I raised o'er 

earth my head, 
And I stand, a lonely monarch — for my race has 

passed away — 
Looking at the stars at even, and the busy world by 

day. 
I have seen my comrades falling, all around me, one 

by one, 
So I ask you leave me standing till my lease of life is 

run. 
Then, when all my leaves have fallen, and my limbs 

are hanging low, 
And I feel no more the raindrop, or the v/inter's 

sturdy blow; 
When my trunk is dry and rotting, and my roots 

imbibe no more, 
Fell me, and, v/hile I am falling, listen to my crash 

and roar! 
With me then shall go the stories which the ages 

caused to be. 
From the Saxons' early coming through the days of 

Chivalry; 
When I sav/ the fields about me soaking oft with 

human blood, 
Conflicts waged by greedy nations coming hence from 

o'er the flood; 
When I learned the sign of battle in the night so 

clear and still 



34 

By the glim'ring campfires burning brightly on the 

distant hill; 
When I saw the knights in armor on their chargers 

ride afield, 
And the hills returned the echoes when the brazen 

trumpets pealed. 

England, gardenland of warfare, nourished with the 

nation's blood! 
All thy conflicts I have witnessed through my days 

of hardihood. 
Nightly would the Dryads gather round my trunk so 

huge and strong. 
Like the Druids round their altar, told in story and 

in song. 

History's pages, slowly turning, gave me wonder day 

by day. 
Age surpassing age I witnessed, superstition giving 

way. 

Ceased to sound the shrilly trumpet, ceased to ride 
the gallant knight — 

Gone those days of mighty conquest — gone the bur- 
nished armor bright! 

Then I saw the cities round me raise their spires high 

in air, 
And I often said within me, "Slowly grows the world 

more fair." 

But, alas! while all was gaining, I was losing, day 

by day, 
From the surging, restless progress slow my com- \ 

rades passed away. 

Where are they? I cry, I shudder; you have robbed 
me, let me be. 



35 

Use your axe upon another — strike not such an aged 

tree ! 
I will hurl my limbs upon you, crush your dwelling 

with my breath, 
In your dreams Til fall upon you, mock your agonies 

of death! 
If again you choose to strike me with your tempered 

blade of steel, 
So again I tell you, leave me, ere my warning words 

are real! 
Ah, he hears me, every moment, like the years his 

form recedes, 
While my soul on happier ages of a glorious future 

feeds! 



"SUNSET" 



I love my home, my cheery hearth, 
And all that's true and good on earth, 
And all that warms and all that cheers, 
And all that drives away our fears. 
And her who doth abide with me, 
And these fair children on my knee, 
And Him who blesses this dear home, 
And guides my steps where'er I roam. 



36 

O Home, sweet composui^e! 

When from the world's exposure, 

Into thy welcoming rooms I go, 

And feel the fire's bright, warming glow, 

And greet the loved ones waiting near, 

What bliss on earth is half so dear? 

We often longed for other joys. 

When these would seem to tame, 

And sought the scenes where gold decoys. 

And makes or wrecks a name. 

And passed the days in pleasure there 

That mocked the fleeting hours. 

Until this spot would seem as bare 

As woods when winter lowers; 

But oh! the bliss on coming back, 

And oh! the comfort here. 

And oh ! the music of the crack 

Of greenwood burning neai ! 

Tell him who will, tell him who may, 

Of joys both far and near, 

But none will ever come my way, 

Hov/ever far and wide I stray, 

To fill my soul so full of cheer, 

To nestle to my heart so dear, 

As this sweet home I've builded here. 



37 



MY BREAKFAST 

Here's to a dish of porridge, 

Cf grain from the Scottish reed, 

Served steaming hot with cream that's got 

From cows of the Jersey breed; 

Here's to a dish of porridge, 
Served when the frosted panes 
Cb'3cure the view of a scene that's new, 
When great snows hide the plains. 

H'-re's to buttered, yellow bread, 
Cf grain from my good barn, 
The grain of the field of golden yield — 
The golden field of corn. 

Here's to a cup of coffee. 
Of Mocha and Java blend, 
Whose odor sweet and flavor meet 
A fine contentment lend. 

Hpre's to a wife before me, 

T'^^hose skill has put it through. 

To beauty and strength and days of length, 

And satisfaction true. 



38 



ELM SPRING 

Below our farm a mile or so 
The Elm Spring's waters rise and flow; 
By spreading elm and towering spruce 
It turns its crystal waters loose. 

Around about it cresses grow, 
Above, the wooded violets blow, 
The cowslips in the grasses stray, 
And ever the cooling waters play. 

The rocks of old about it stand, 

So rudely carved by the storm god's hand; 

And on their dripping side so cold 

The moss and the lichen have taken hold. 

*Tis there the cows from pastures near 
Come to drink of the waters clear. 
And many a lover of solitude 
Has cheered his soul in the shady wood. 

And ever murm'ring waters flow, 
And ever happy lovers go, 
And ever, ever song birds sing 
To happy hearts at Elm Spring. 



39 



THE MARSH MILL WATERFALL 

A Child's Song 



My father has a happy world with a great fence 

around, 
And there are many lovely things about my father's 

ground : 
I love the flower garden which my mother tends 

with care, 
The roses and the hyacinths and lillies pure and 

fair; 
I love to see the plowman in the springtime plow 

the field, 
I love to roam the meadows where the soft grasses 

yield; 
I love my gentle little cow with hair so sleek and 

brown, 
I m.ilk her in the morning, and when the sun goes 

down ; 
I love the funny little pigs that snort and grunt all 

day, 
I laugh to see their infant fights — I laugh to see them 

play. 
The barns are father's castles, oh! many a rainy 

day 
Have Jane and I spent romping and a-tumbling in 

the hay! 
And how I love to climb the hills and hear the 

sweet birds call, 



Or listen to the music of the Marsh Mill waterfall: 
The wheel goes round, and round, and round, for 

many a weary hour. 
The farmers' wheat is grinding, and the miller 

makes his flour. 
A spring of crystal water flows that feeds the 

rushing stream. 
Down yonder where the valley slopes and sunbeams 

rarely gleam: 
The hills are high around the spring, and dense the 

forests be — 
Oh! never have I found a spot more beautiful to me! 
The miller wears a funny cap and apron, spotless 

white. 

He's busy, busy all the day and happy every night. 
He used to make us little bags and fill them full of 

meal, 
And write our names upon them when we came to 

see the wheel. 
Oh! round, and ro^jnd, and round it goes for many 

a weary hour, 
The farmer's wheat is grinding and the miller 

makes his flour. 
The miller loves the waterfall that makes his wheel 

go round, 
And poet-like he understands the meaning of each 

sound. 
He told me, every moment, every moment every 

day, 
The waters in their falling sing to him this little 

lay: 
"T serve thpe, I serve thee! I sei^ve with all my henrt, 
With all my strength and days of length, and all my 

natural art: 



41 

"A hundred springs my being is, their births in 

mountains are, 
And there I rear my waters clear to travel swift 

and far; 
"I have no time to tarry, sir, I have no time for play, 
My labors are my neighbors' — I serve them night 

and day; 
"A thousand head of sheep and kine, as many horses, 

too, 
Depend on me, my waters free, as grass does on the 

dew. 
"I turn for thee, Miller, thy pond'rous wooden 

v/heel, 
With all m.y strength and days of length my flowing 

grinds the meal. 
"I feed the tender little sprouts that nestle on my 

bank. 
The willow's root — a monster foot — the grasses 

growing rank; 
"A purpose God has given me, to serve his children 

here. 
With all my strength and days of length I live to 

bring them cheer. 
"A bloody battle over there it was my lot to see, 
And oh, the grief that found relief and soothed itself 

in me! 
"And many a weary traveler has kneeled upon my 

bank, 
With clothing torn and features worn he thanked 

his God, and drank. 
"So onward, ever onward, with missions, toward 

the sea, 
A life begun on earth to run for all that living be!" 



42 



"PARADISE REGAINED" 

GEE whiz! I'm in the country, do you know 
There ain't no place on earth that cheers me so! 
The city's all right for them greedy folk 
That can't see nothin' in this life but money, 
An' sit in offices an' scheme and smoke; 
But jest give me the fields, all green an' sunny. 

I don't care if my gal's along or not — 
The honey's sweet enough for me out here; 
Yet I'll admit her presence'd be a lot 
Of satisfaction if she'd stay right near. 

Gee! Ain't it fine?' The air's all cedar laden, 
An' there's a blue-bird meltin' into sky; 
That mockin' bird kin fool ye like a maiden, 
Oh! in a world like this who wants to die? 

Them little flowers creepin' in the grasses 
Weren't made fer us big folk to tread upon, 
They live and breathe as do we human masses, — 
Them city folks don't know what God has done! 

Hist! look at that! A little squirrel a-friskin', 
An' watchin' me with two bright little eyes; 
Mebby he's sayin' as about he's whiskin', 
"What great big thing has come to Parrydise?" 



43 



A SONG OF TWENTY-ONE 

I'M twenty-one today, boys, I'm twenty-one today, 
And, Oh! the happy schemes, boys, that in my fancy 

play. 
I've got the world before me, boys, and though they 

say it's hard, 
A buoyant spirit's born today no fate shall e'er 

retard ! 
I dreamed when ten that love was sv/eet, but, oh! 

as it is now, 
You'll know, my boys, when twenty-one — I cannot tell 

you how. 
A letter came from home today that I shall always 

ke^p, 
'Twas penned by her who loves me true, who penned 

it but to weep; 
And how that letter breathes her love, how Mother 

prays foi" me. 
That how she guided me in youth I still might guided 

be. 

Then fill for me the glasses, boys, I'll do for you the 
same, 

When you have reached your twenty-first, the proud- 
est hour, I claim; 

And lift to me the glasses, boys, and touch them 
while we sing. 

In ecstasy, the joy he feels, who's twenty-one in 
spring! 



MADRIGAL 

THY sighs are breaths of roses sweet, 
Thy voice, the music of the lyre, 
And could my lips thine own but meet 
But once, 'twould quiet my desire. 

The soft love-light within those eyes, 
Whose darkness matches raven gloss, 
Is such, it seems, as angels prize. 
But mine's the gain, and theirs the loss. 

The magic waves that o'er me leap. 
From pulse to pulse, from vein to vein, 
When thy soft hand in mine I keep. 
Is as the buds' when summer rain 

With gentle warmth all lightly falls, 
And to their fainting efforts yields 
The nourishment their beauty calls 
If they must bloom in bower or fields; 

But when the lights are burning low. 
Thy phanto m form before me floats. 
And love's soft passions gently glow, 
While in mine ears are sweetest notes. 

And there my rev'rie fades and dies. 
The phantom glides away, and night 
Steals o'er me, and my drooping eyes 
Await Aurora's car of light! 



45 



CONSTANCY 

WHEN first I kissed that lovely face 
It seemed that Nature and her race 
Of fairy artists vied their skill 
To make the fairest, and to fill 
That single mould with all the good 
That makes the charm of maidenhood. 

Again I kiss that face today — 
Some forty years have passed away, 
The brows are knit, the locks are gray, 
And round about it wrinkles stray: 
The heart has lost its childish play, 
The bloom of youth forever gone. 
But still, unchanged, my love lives on. 



46 



THE BALLAD OF JENNIE BROWN 

THIS rhyme of mine is a rhyme of the time 
When our fathers were boys like we, 
And they wore their clothes — as I suppose — 
With as much propriety. 

There lived in a town a young Miss Brown, 

A lady of style was she, 

And the tale I teU, it once befell 

This lady of quality. 

There wasn't a man (so the story ran) 
In the old New England town, 
Who was not awAre of the lady fair 
That was christened Jennie Brown. 

Her hair was dark, and a heavenly spark 
Would flash from her lovely eyes; 
Her figure good, and ns fne her blood 
As nature could ever devise. 

And many a dupe with awkward stoop 
Had humbled hiriself to her; 
And now and then the sensible men 
She used her arts to lure. 

Oh, as many loves as awkward moves 
An elephant makes in a day, 
Had young Miss Brown in the cozy town 
Built o'er New England's way. 



But she threw them off with a laugh and a cough, 
And prepared the next to catch ; 
And she thought it fun, when the day was done, 
This jilting her art would hatch. 

But there came a day when the men that way 
Had let her alone for good. 

And the days she sighed, and the nights she cried, 
In her lonely maidenhood. 

The days went on, and her lovers were gone — 
V/ere married many a year, 
And she mourned her fate and her single state 
W'^ith many a salty tear. 

Her beauty of youth (I am telling the truth) 
Was slowly fading away; 
And she worried deep, and she lost her sleep 
Until her locks were gray. 

Her beauty was gone, and her cheeks were wan. 
And her heart was sad, I'm sure. 
When a happy scheme, like a sudden gleam 
Aroused this maiden demure. 

She'd buy some locks from the milliner's stocks, 
Of a lovely, golden hue. 
And she'd paint her cheeks, like other freaks 
Who have had the art to rue. 

She kept the locks in an ebony box, 
With jeweled hinges bright, 
And every morn the locks were worn, 
And she put them back at night. 



48 



And she was vain and young again — 
At least she reasoned so, 
And she went to a town, did Jennie Brown, 
And captured a little beau. 

Oh, a little beau named So-and-So, 
So nice, so sweet, so small; 
But he didn't know the dreadful woe 
Into which he soon would fall. 

She took him away, and her heart was gay, 

And his the same, I fear; 

But oh! and alas! it came to pass 

That there was many a tear I 

For the little boy, so nice and coy. 
He wasn't a man at all; 
And the little girl with the golden curl, 
She wasn't a girl at all! 

And now ye maids with lace and braids. 
And beauty that cannot last. 
Take while you can an honest man. 
Nor turn them off so fast. 




49 



FIRES OF BRUSHWOOD 

BRIGHT fires of brushwood burning far away, 
Lighting the horizon as the sky is turning gray; 

Strong arms of Progress clearing for the corn, 
Toiling late into the night but up with early morn; 

Strong arms of Progress forging out the West, 
Making pleasant lands for those that follow when 
they rest. 

Here I sit adreaming, adreaming of a race, 
Jew, Gentile, and Christian blood mingled by His 
grace. 

Living in the peace of God in this most blessed land; 
Bright fires of brushwood, ye picture such a band! 

Bright fires of brushwood burning far away, 

True, come true, happy dream that drives my cares 



Fires of brushwood burning that lands may yet be 

free, 
Fires of war fierce raging for lasting Peace to be ! 



50 



LINCOLN 1 

0, thou, the child of Poverty and Care, 

If I would make a parallel of thee, 

I feel I am not wrong if I compare 

To Him thou followed — Man of Galilee: 

In lowliness was thy nativity, 

Thou noble offspring of the virgin soil, 

Thou child of meekness and humility. 

And noblest exponent of manly toil. 

The care-worn face my cheeks the teardrops soil 

When I behold, for thine was fire that burned 

To light the world. Thy will, what foe could foil? 

Thy purpose, e'en by armies ne'er was turned 

From its wise course; — thy fall, a nation's groan; 

Thy task for man performed, God took thee for His 



51 



ENLIST 

ENLIST is printed facing "Peace." The verse in italics is 
self-explanatory, and does, I believe, express the soul of every 
true American, assuredly so that of our great President ; 
and if Peace is to be established only by war, then let us have 
war. 

A blast of stirring music comes, 

The shrieking fife, the martial drums,* 

And clarion call to arms. 
Where is the spirit of your sires? 
Where are the hearts such music fires. 

The dying bosom warms? 

You see your brothers' sacrifice, 

Must you be called for more than tv/ice? 

And you my countrymen! 
Our ships are sunk, our blood is shed 
By ruthless hands with murder red, 

And Freedom calls again! 

She bids each to her colors fly, 
With heart of oak and flashing eye. 

And spirit of the free! 
For never was her peril so great — 
'Tis of the world, not of the state — 

For God her victory ! 

It is not ours to seek a fight. 

But when the cause demands our might 

Our battle hosts arise! 
They bear the flag in triumph on, 
The flag of Grant and Washington, 

The glory of the skies! 



52 



Deep from the depths I hear a cry, 
"Aveng-e! avenge! To battle fly!" 

Our answer rings, "We come!" 
I hear the battle shout afar, 
I feel the cannon's awful jar, 
Up, up, my boys! to arms, to war! 

For freedom and for home! 



* Suggested by the well known painting by Archibald 
Willard, "Spirit of '76." 



PEACE 

SING not the praise of olden days, 
Their songs are sung for evermore; 
But sing the ways of better days. 
Of peace and rest from shore to shore: 
A single day of heaven is worth 
A thousand years of strife on earth. 

When comes the jar of crowns at war. 
When heroes fall and widows weep, 
When shell and sword and savage horde 
Are spreading woe on field and deep, 
'Tis then, O God, in fulness comes 
The meaning of the martial drums. 

My native land! in glory stand. 
But not the glory of armed ranks. 
But of the fields and all that yields 
Us peace and wealth, and render thanks 
To Him in whom such blessings rise 
As should make earth a paradise. 



53 



Our pride of power, the present hour, 
Still, still our greatest danger is; 
O'er vision's sea appears to me 
A cloud — but heaven save from this! 
No heart and soul to heaven turned 
Was ever by the Father spurned. 

Then let us climb the heights sublime, 

Let "Peace" in golden letters glow 

Before our eyes to imparadise 

This world perplexed with war and woe: 

A single day of heaven is worth 

A thousand years of strife on earth. 




JiCKNO WLEDGEMEN'C 

The fine photograph of the Yosemite from 
which our plate was made was furnished by 
the Southern Pacific railroad. 

"Joaquin Miller As I Saw Him" was pub- 
lished in Out West. 

"The Volcano" and "The Spirit Of The 
Place" first appeared in The Hesperian. 

Qranite State Magazine published "The Last 
Oak" in a review; and "Peace" (first version) 
was in The Living Church. 



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4 



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